Wrecking Havoc
by Ghost-Tongued
Summary: Wheeljack is back after nearly a decade to join up with the Autobots permanently, much to the delight of Bulkhead. But much has changed after the fall of Megatron and his empire, especially with the human children. And he found himself unsure of his decision when those honey-brown eyes locked with his. Based on the "30 Breath Takes" livejournal prompt challenge.
1. Smiling Face

**Recommendation(s):**

_Page Width_: Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** light** background setting.

* * *

**Author's Note: **I absolutely adore Wheeljack in TF: Prime, and I also love Miko. It came to me yesterday that the Wheeljack/Miko relationship may actually be my OTP for the series! :D

* * *

**Prompt: **Smiling Face

Primus.

His spark sputtered when he saw his and Bulkhead's special girl waltz into the arrival bay, a contagious grin on her exotic features.

_Primus_.

Just how long had it been, exactly? Six years? Seven?

He had to admit that he'd been anticipating seeing how much his little co-pilot had changed after being startled by the unexpected growth and transformations of Jack and Rafael. Humans were such strange but fascinating creatures.

Well, when they weren't underfoot and nearly getting crushed, anyway.

He couldn't recall his own species ever really having such unique growth stages. Cybertronians all looked identical as sparklings, except sometimes in size. In fact, the moment they were capable of creating an individual personality for themselves at all was basically at the peak of maturity - when their T-Cogs were fully operational and capable of heavy upgrades on armor, weapons, decal and other vanity spoils, and the alternate mode of one's choice.

He'd also long since decided that it'd been no coincidence that the demand to immediately join an academy of some sort was also around that same time.

Of course, being of lower caste like his sire and further ancestors, he'd had few options to choose from in that aspect. Construction had seemed the best option at the time. It had either been that or just forgo an academy altogether and work the energon mines alongside convicted criminals and those of society's _lowest_ caste, both of which had always seemed to go hand-in-hand anyway.

He continued to stare at her, probably rather rudely.

The spunky, bad-as-they-came kid who'd saved his aft so long ago from Hardshell was no longer the same femme smiling up at him.

Oh, there was still that devious mirth dancing freely in her honey-brown eyes, but she was no longer wearing it like she'd had for the rest of the universe to see. No more boots with neon-pink laces crisscrossing all the way up to her knees. No more purple and violet striped stockings. No more ink-black nail polish. No more fake-gauged earrings.

Even the rebellious, puff-pigtail hairstyle he and Bulkhead had been particularly fond of had fallen down into a long and thick cascade of rich black with only two striking strips of color running down the extent of her lengthened bangs. Where pink had once adorned the lock of hair, the dye of forest green and ivory white gently framed the left side of her smooth, slender features.

And there was something _very _familiar about those colors. He would have to ask her about it later.

"Well, well," she taunted, her grin tilting into an affectionate smirk as she came to a stop just a few feet from him, propping a fist on a tilted hip, "look what the scaplet dragged in. And when I say that, I mean that you _literally_ look like you were gnawed on for days before being dragged in here. What happened? Couldn't get to your gooey, nougat-y center so they gave up and decided to let us deal with you?"

He couldn't stop the crooked grin splitting his mouthpiece. _Still the ever fiery spit-take_, _I see._

Not to be one-upped, he made a show of looking himself over, splaying out his arms and giving her a good view as he turned full circle for her. "What do you mean, kid? I have all these new battle scars for you to analyze and swoon over. Heck, some of these I had to actually _go_ out of my way to get. I figured you'd have my bearings if I went and buffed them out before you got to see them."

"Seven years and you still know me so well," she drawled, grinning up at him in satisfaction. "So, you going to tell me their stories or what? I can't wait to hear everything! Oh, and you better not hold out. You owe me at least an entire day's worth of adventure stories, got that?"

The curiously warm, soft look in those exotically shaped eyes had his intakes catching fast, immediately startling him. He inwardly scowled at himself.

_Get a hold of yourself, you broke down Wrecker, _he scolded himself. _She's smiled at you millions of times in the past. What in the Pit would make this any different?_

With a slightly forced smile, he inclined his helm at her. "You got it, squirt, just so long as you tell me everything that's gone on with you, starting with when the Pit you got so - " _spark-crushingly beautiful_ " - tall. I remember when I almost had to scrape you off the underside of my boot, you were so damn tiny. Anyway, I don't want to have to repeat too much, so let's wait until Bulkh-"

_"JACKIE!"_

His optics nearly offlined under the near frame-shattering tackle-embrace he was assaulted with when tons of green Cybertronian steel came charging at him with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"C'mon, Bulk!" he grunted with a pained laugh, landing a hard, good-natured punch in the hulking mass's shoulder plating. "I didn't get any younger these last few years. You keep doing this and I just might have to stay after all if it means not collapsing into a heap of scrap the next time I drop by."

Surrounding gasps, followed by silence, befell the entire bay. He smirked faintly, rolling his optics at the dramatics.

Bulkhead got to his feet with an unusual amount of agility for someone of his heavily armored mass, and leaned down to help him up. "What - what are you saying, Jackie?"

He grabbed the offered servo and got to his feet, his joints groaning slightly. Instead of answering the hopeful edge in Bulkhead's voice, he busied himself with flicking imaginary dirt specks off his scratched and damaged arm guard.

He glanced up under his optic brow when the towering form of Optimus stepped forward, curiousness and mild surprise wavering in his solar-blue optics. "You have . . . decided to join our ranks, Wheeljack?"

He looked between the Prime, to the equally shocked faces of Jack and Rafael, to the disbelieving looks being exchanged between the other four Autobots, to the bright and eager grins of his favorite Wrecker and their little doppelganger.

"Tell you what, chief," he finally spoke, smiling fondly at the two before sliding his gaze to the calm and regal leader, "let me catch up with Bulkhead and Miko tonight and I'll give you my final answer tomorrow morning. Right now, I just miss the crew, and nothing short of some high-grade, an exchange of war stories, and maybe a friendly game of Lobbing or Praxus Fold 'Em is going to convince me to say anything definitive."

"Permitted," Optimus rumbled, gracing him with one of his small, rare smiles. "No matter your decision, friend, you know you are always welcomed here among us. This is your home as much as it is ours."

He gave a two-fingered salute, a light smirk pulling at the corner of his mouthpiece. "Duly noted."

"This is great!" he heard Bulkhead exclaim happily, and it was the only warning he got before his back was leveled with an overly zealous pat on the back that nearly knocked his spark clean through his chestplates, and then was roughly dragged against the big lug's side with a heavy arm locked around his head. "C'mon, Jackie - Miko and I will show you to my quarters and we can get right on top of that high-grade! Primus, I can't wait to hear all about the scrap you've gotten into!"

He chuckled and slammed an arm around Bulkhead's helm in return as he was guided out of the arrival bay and down a wide, long hall.

As Bulkhead started going on about the location and features of the newly acquired base, he took the opportunity to drift a discreet look down at the young femme twisting and turning ahead of them, giddily engaging the wrecking ball in his chatter, her endearing and lively personality making his spark pulse particularly hard inside its chamber.

_Primus save me . . . I think I'm in some serious trouble._


	2. In the Silence of the Night

**Recommendation(s):  
**_Page Width_: Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** dark** background setting.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Next chapter will start delving into sexual themes, though I'm not sure just how explicit it's going to turn out, so just in case, be keeping track of the "M" rated section if you enjoy this story but haven't put it on your story-alert list. Even as I write this story, I am amazed at just how extensive I think I'm going to make this. This story was originally spawned from the Megatron/Adult!Miko fic that I'm also writing, and I have plans to write a side story that focuses on a Shockwave/June Darby relationship after this one. I just wish that I had more free time to fully devote myself to all of this.

On a side note, I've created a Transformers Kink Meme community over at Livejournal. If anyone is interested in throwing around some prompts and/or filling ones already provided, I have the link in my profile. You don't need to be a member of the group, let alone Livejournal, in order to participate! All you gotta do is write anonymously!

HikariFighter: Thank you so much for your constructive feedback! I adore honesty and any advice/suggestions from my readers. The fact that you're not too sure about this pairing but are willing to give it a chance, I can only do my best to impress you!

Decepticonloser101: Thank you for the support! I hope the wait for this chapter was worth it. :)

movielover9: Oh, good! I thought I was the only one who had a thing for this pairing, so you have no idea how wonderful it feels to know that I'm not. Thank you for your kind words and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

**Prompt****: **In the Silence of the Night

He reached over and rapped his knuckles firmly against the large, green helm armor, the clanking barely audible over the mobile wrecking ball's thunderous, rattling intakes.

Bulkhead was officially passed out drunk, poker cards trapped under his faceplates and scattered around the empty energon cube still gripped, almost possessively, in a servo.

He shook his helm, grunting in mild amusement before bringing his own cube of high-grade to his lips, sipping generously at the gently glowing pink liquid. He took a moment to savor its hot, energized slide down his throat.

His first night at the Autobots' new base couldn't have gone any better in his opinion. Bulkhead's quarters was expansive: a high ceiling with enough spacious square footing that he could nearly berth _The Jackhammer _in it; concrete flooring; reinforced steel tiles riveted into the walls and decorated with various sheets of amateur but highly endearing drawings and paintings, along with a few massively enlarged photos of him and Bulkhead, all of which were clearly the courtesy of Miko.

Other than the colorful images taped to and spread out on all four walls, the lodging was barren. It was a trait that both he and Bulkhead had shared while bunking together at the _Academy of Architectural Design and Construction_ - only the bare essentials were ever always a necessity.

A berth, built to accommodate the weight and width of its owner, was pushed up into the farthest corner at of the room, the concaving recharge bench's slender rows of cybergel pads illuminating an alluring, tranquil blue.

Four storage lockers stood tall in the opposite corner, no doubt housing weapon and armor downgrades as well old trinkets from the construction days, including a valueless datapad backup chip with photos and videos of the crew spending their recreational days at various Cybertronian sports events, specifically mecha-soccer and the seasonal tournaments for basketrek.

The night, itself, had been relatively quiet, but only if one could ignore his and Bulkhead's rowdy laughter and the racket of their fists pounding boisterously on the round, steel table.

Miko had been content to sit in the center of the tabletop, her upturned face flicking back and forth between the two of them. Her eyes had been practically shimmering with excitement and enthrallment as she clung to every word that detailed their action-packed war stories as well as a few personal tales of some of the most hilarious and embarrassing Wrecker antics and pranks that they had pulled on one another.

They'd later opted to settle in with a few games of Cybertron's version of poker, which they were more than happy to explain to Miko.

Because she always seemed to be the center of their attention, it hadn't surprised him one inch when she had seen became a serious aspect of the game when she would walk to each side of the table to peek at their cards.

In good humor, he and Bulkhead had heckled each other mercilessly, taunting and name-calling all the while shamelessly trying to bribe Miko into giving up precious intel on the other's cards.

But the fiendish femme had made it clear almost immediately that her information wouldn't come cheap. Both he and Bulkhead had had their work cut out for themselves - only the best deals would have grabbed her attention.

Bulkhead had won the first round of cards when he'd managed to sweet talk her into a weekend's worth of off-roading and mudding. And he remembered just sitting there, dumbfounded that such a messy and unruly enticement had trumped his.

With how sophisticated and ladylike she appeared in those sleek, black peep-toed heels, black skin-tight leggings, and intricately-knitted beige sweater that clung to her at mid-thigh length and accentuated her soft curves, he had automatically assumed that she would have jumped at the chance to take a midnight cruise with him in _The Jackhammer_, thinking that it would have appealed to the weak spot that he'd _thought_ she'd had for the romantic.

But he was a quick learner. Clearly, the reckless and strong-willed adolescent that he'd grown attached to had never left but merely underwent a metamorphosis that could have deceived even the savviest of 'Cons with that facade of fragility and naïveté.

So, in the following hand, he'd decimated Bulkhead's next offer with unabashed smugness by altering his previous bribe and presented to her that he would take her on a midnight cruise in _The Jackhammer_ . . . and teach her how to pilot it.

When the third hand had gone into play, Bulkhead had started his offer high: ground-bridging to Bulgaria and attending the _Blood Moon Fest_ music event that was coming up in the next month, where Slash Monkey would be opening.

From what he could tell, she had looked nearly ready to collapse in shock, whispering, _"Oh, my god, are you being serious? Yes!"_

He remembered feeling completely put out in that moment and had found himself propping the side of his helm on his fist, scowling under Bulkhead's self-satisfied smirk as he exasperatedly tossed his cards over a shoulder.

_"But . . ." _

She had turned to him then, a devious glint in those alluring, smoky-gold eyes that had had the strong, steady pulse of his spark faltering almost painfully.

_"_You _throw in the energon turrets with that pilot lesson and I'll be on your side all night."_

He jerked, abruptly pulled from his thoughts by a sudden and loud snort, followed by some incoherent grumbling before the audial-deafening snoring started up again, if not louder than before.

"There are just some things never change," he chuckled, lowering his cube. He flicked his optics to Miko to find that she was regarding him in curiosity.

He leaned in close, smiling faintly as he jabbed a thumb in sleeping Wrecker's direction. "Bulkhead. He may weigh nearly as much as a stealth starfighter, but he might as well be a Terroraptor feather when it comes to high-grade. Doesn't help that he always pounds the stuff back like a mech who hasn't had a drop of energon in an entire orn."

She blinked her wide, exotic-curved eyes at him, furrowing her dark eyebrows and looking ever more bewildered. " . . . What?"

He paused, realizing that he must have used one too many Cybertronian references. Scratching a finger against a faceplate side-shield sheepishly, he translated bluntly with, "Lightweight. Bulkhead couldn't hold his booze to save his backside."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, and then fell into a small fit of laughter, revealing to him a smile that could have rivaled the intensity of a sun.

_By the Thirteen, I think I'm g'onna end up under Ratchet's defibrillator if she keeps looking at me like that, _he thought uneasily, unable to ignore how his spark swelled and lurched behind his chestplates in an aggressive demand that he knew all too well but staunchly refused to acknowledge, let alone explore. _She's of a completely different species and not even a seventh your size, you ridiculous, rundown demolitionist. How in the Pit are you even capable of overlooking those things?_

Anxious to distract himself from the havoc his spark was wreaking on his senses, acutely aware that its path was destined to reach the forbidden, tightly-leashed region of his neural net it he pondered it too long, he cleared his throat and sat back, dropping a servo to his thigh as he inquired, "So, half-pint, what's with the change of colors?"

He watched as her eyes instinctively rolled upward to stare at the forest-green and ivory-white strips of dye in her bangs. She reached up and fingered the section of hair lovingly.

"This? I did this almost four years ago. It's meant to symbolize my best-friends-forever relationship with the two most awesome Wreckers in the entire universe." She separated the two colored locks from each other, grinning as she explained them further. "See this green? It represents Bulkhead. He may look mean and big enough to deflect a speeding train with his chest, but on the inside, he's nothing but fluff. The white here is for Wheeljack. He acts just as tough as he looks, but when he's around Bulkhead and me, he's just as much of a major pushover. Maybe you've heard of them? They're kind of a big deal, really."

So much for a distraction. Despite the small smirk tilting his mouthplate, his fingers were gripping his cuisse tight enough to leave dents as the unbidden urge to growl perversely _"Kid, if you wanted a mark to remember me by, then I'll be more than willing to give you a proper one"_ sat precariously on the tip of his glossa.

"You know, I think I _have_ heard of them," he drawled, his smirk tightening under his rising stress. "Though I hear that that Wheeljack is quite the hooligan. Hazardous, even. With all those explosive devices and the wild aerial stunts he does with his starship, I kind'a have to worry about your safety. Nothing good ever comes from a bad influence like him."

Thick, black lashes batted sinfully over bright, golden eyes as that smirk of hers turned into something sly.

"Actually, sometimes I think _I'm_ the bad influence. After all, how can I keep the poor guy out of trouble with those grenades of his if I love seeing them being used?"

He guffawed, grinning as he idly thumbed the thin strip of slightly pliable, gray metal perched neatly on his chin-plate. "You're too much, kid."

She flicked a lock of dark hair over her shoulder and titled her head up haughtily, matching his grin with one of her own. "I know. It's what I do."

And with that, almost immediately silence came crashing down between them.

He shifted slightly, attempting the ease himself from the discomfort of the awkwardness. He absently dropped his gaze to his cube of high-grade, the frown on his faceplates reflecting back up at him in the remaining luminescent pink liquid.

The shuffle of clothing and a soft groan drew his attention back to Miko, finding that she had stood up was stretching her arms high above her head. Dropped her arms again, she pushed up a thick sleeve sweater to uncover a watch.

"Curfew, kid?" he teased, watching as she checked the time.

"Nope. Just checking to see if it was midnight yet."

He blinked, perplexed. "Why?"

Instead of immediately answering, she smiled impishly and crossed the surface of the table. She came to stop next to his cube of high-grade and leaned her slight frame against the dense, worn metal of his fingers. The hot, electrical whip of energy that seemed to arc up the length of his arm from the warm, soft contact of her body had him stiffening in his seat so abruptly that he heard a few gears groan in protest.

If she'd felt what he had, then she didn't show any signs of it. Instead, her golden eyes glinted with mirth as she purred, "Because I'm cashing in that 'midnight cruise' tonight, Wrecker."

He swallowed dryly, his spark pulsating rapidly. At the back of his neural processor he felt the stirring of a darkly interested, forceful appetite that he had purposely kept under strict control, which had often landed him in an position of celibacy except for times when the Wreckers would dock at war-neutral brothel ships stationed throughout the galaxy.

And it had been a _long time_ since he'd seen a brothel ship.

He cautiously tightened his grip on the leash.

This was not going to end well.


	3. The Look in Your Eyes

**Recommendation(s):  
**_Page Width_: Keep story's width at "3/4"; adjustment settings are at the top-right corner of the site, where the different font styles and sizes are located. "3/4" is the original width that this story was written in.

_Light/Dark:_ This chapter is best read on the** dark** background setting.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I am _so_ sorry for the long-waited update, and I am _so_ sorry to disappoint, but this story is still PG-13 rated. In fact, the next chapter will most likely end up on my Tumblr as a precaution.

If you want to hear the audio tracks I've intended for Wheeljack, just visit the Tumblr I threw together for him (linked in my profile) and listen to the media player installed at the top.

As always, feedback of any kid is more than appreciated. If this story is on your list of favorites or follows, or you've left a review under a registered account, I will personally alert you when I've updated next and have it up on my Tumblr!

* * *

**Prompt****: **The Look in Your Eyes

He was already sitting in the pilot seat when he heard her walking up _The Jackhammer's _entrance/exit ramp, but he kept his focus on the task at hand. Sharp _beeps_ and _pings_ sounded in acknowledgment to hisdigits flying over the command control screen as he deactivated and enforced a code-lock on his starship's weapons system.

Knowing Miko, the battle-enthused femme would end up touching something that would launch an ion missile or find a way to aim the turrets to shoot up an unsuspecting mountain if he didn't keep an optic trained on her the entire time, and he would never know if was an accident or not, too, when he would have to inevitably report back to Optimus to explain why the whole fraggin' planet was suddenly on fire.

"Okay, I'm here! Let's launch this party - literally!"

He glanced over at the passenger seat and stiffened, watching as she heft herself up onto it.

She'd altered her wardrobe.

When he'd learned that there had been a hidden room tucked away behind a four-tiled section in one of the walls and that it was Miko's personal quarters, he ultimately hadn't been surprised. _Of course_ the little doppelganger would be residing in the same space as her appointed guardian. From what he'd been told, she had often slept in the ex-Wrecker's backseat during his curbside duty near her host parents' house. And then ever since the horrific Tox-En incident, she had all but welded herself to his side.

_"I'll meet you in the docking bay, okay?" _she'd informed him while pressing a small button on the wall, resulting in the tiles separating with a soft hydraulic hiss and revealing a dimly-lit bedroom inside. _"I just gotta get a couple things."_

Now she was sitting there his passenger's seat, rummaging through a rather large carrying bag, the thick curtain of her hair having been swept up into a messy bun to reveal two violet, guitar-carved earrings . . . as well as the gentle curve of her cheekbones and jawline.

The slender column of her neck dipped down behind the upturned collar of a black jacket that was decorated in numerous and vibrant patches and badges, its length cropped short to encircle her ribcage. Her undershirt continued on until it hit the waist of a denim skirt and two wide, colorful belts draped lazily across her hips. Her current attire _screamed_ the Miko he had expected to see upon his previous arrival, especially in those black-and-green striped leggings that clung to her thighs and disappeared into heavy, calf-high boots.

He paused in his unintended inspection, zoning in on the symbols etched into those boots. He wasn't entirely sure, but those sharp angles and small circles seemed rather Cybertronian.

"C'mon, you - !"

He watched as she gave an exaggerated heave, extracting from her bag a large, translucent crystal-blue square.

A data audio chip.

He furrowed his optic brows.

As if catching his puzzlement, she grinned and inquired playfully, "What? You didn't think we weren't going to do this without some tunes, did you?"

He grimaced before he could stop himself, his spark sinking at the prospect of being restricted to the confines of his ship with her "music" playing.

"Uh, kid, listen," he started, glancing away and rubbing a servo over the back of his neck, trying to come up with a way to explain, without offending or hurting her feelings, that he didn't have a special soft spot for her type of music like Bulkhead did. In fact, if Primus was willing, he would have seen to it that those screeching guitars, wailing vocals, and rambunctious drumming fell to the Pits and beyond if he'd had any say about it.

"Don't worry about it. I know you don't like the hard stuff."

He turned his stare back on her, a little startled. "What?"

She got to her feet and moved to the edge of the passenger's seat, extending him the audio chip with a smile. "Bulkhead told me about a year ago that you're not a fan of death metal or any other metal music, really. So, we ended up spending a few days trying to see if there was, like, a human equivalent to your tastes. According to what Bulkhead settled on, you might enjoy our classic rock genre."

He stared at the offered data chip, weighing his options.

He trusted Bulkhead with his very spark, taking solace in the fact that the ex-Wrecker knew almost everything about him - to the point that even Makeshift hadn't been able to fool the mech long enough to complete his mission, and that particular 'Con had been specifically _designed_ for masquerading.

With a resigned sigh, he grudgingly took the chip. "Yeah, all right. But, hey, if I don't like it or if it gets too distracting, I'm cutting it off."

"Sure thing!" he heard her quip as he turned away and reached over to the command panel his farthest left, popping the translucent data chip into the port of the console box.

In the next instant, the screen swirled with new life as it hungrily processed and uploaded the stored information. The status reports on the night's weather, wind velocity, and air traffic raced off from view as audio controls and music data bloomed upward and expanded out to swallow up the vacated space.

_Hmm_, he thought absently, digits flying over the touch-sensitive screen as he went through the information provided on the various audio tracks, idly flinging group after group of words off the screen to review the next. There were artists and bands like _Whitesnake_, _Pat Benatar_,_ Scorpions_,and_ Bad Company; _songs like _'Primal Scream'_, _'Rock 'n' Roll Fantasy'_, _'Tuff Enuff'_, and _'Twilight Zone'_.

"Put on _'Lovin' Every Minute Of It'_. It's by Loverboy."

He was extremely particular when it came to music - so much so that given any other time, he would have gotten a little fussy for not being given the opportunity to sample the titles before being forced to endure entire songs; however, he found that he would have to trust Bulkhead more than ever this time around.

Grunting, he flung various audio titles off the screen until he found the one suggested. He tapped the pulsating 'PLAY' option and then dragged the pad of his thumb around the volume control circle in one full revolution.

As music began to surge and envelop spacious cabin, he resituated himself in his seat and pressed specific buttons on the command central's display, putting in the order to raise the ramp as well as initiate the docking bay doors' opening sequence.

"Y'a ready, squirt?" he inquired, smiling quirkily as he tilted his helm to her, but then lifted an optic brow when she pulled a thick chrome collar from her oversized bag.

She beamed excitedly up at him while idly latching it securely around the slim column of her neck. "Yup - just let me get this thing going."

He furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to ask what in the Pit was with her stranger-than-normal clothing and accessories. He was _more_ than a little intrigued when he saw more Cybertronian glyphs engraved into the steel of the shackle-like collar, fanning outward from the single, circular knob positioned in the center.

However, before he could utter a single sound, she grasped the collar's knob and twisted it. With an audible _click_, he watched in quiet awe when energon-blue light started to pour into the connected etchings and raced through the thin lines and geometric shapes like rapid streaming water.

"Miko, wha-" he started, optics widening when the glowing of pure blue expanded into her skin, illuminating the delicate and intricate webs of blood vessels and capillaries.

He jerked, his intakes catching hard when his vision was blinded by the white light that suddenly erupted around her.

"Miko!" he choked out, his spark stuttering in horrified confusion as he reset his optics multiple times, attempting to clear his vision.

Just then, something pliable and warm landed rather heavily across his lap, forcing an _'oof!'_ from his vocalizer.

When the smear of residual light cleared from his optics, he dropped his gaze to his lap. His entire frame locked up in shock, his servos gripping the sides of his seat as his neural processor reeled.

Honey-golden eyes were staring up at him, filled with mischievous laughter.

"_Really_, Jackie?" she teased, slyness creeping into her gaze. "You're part of a super advanced race of technology and science, and you're surprised that _this _is possible?"

"Ughn -" he muttered dumbly, unable to say anything coherent, his processor trying to register the logic behind the femme currently perched sideways in his lap, looking positively content with herself - like as if growing triple her original size was a normal and accepted occurrence.

As if sensing the silent questions that were multiplying like a rapidly acting neural virus, she grinned and tapped at the steel collar locked around her neck, its Cybertronian etchings glowing and pulsing faintly with the flawless blue of engeron. "It's a size-modifier. Or, well, that's what _I_ call it. You know this one mech named Perceptor, right? He's one of the few other Autobots who swung by for a little while. He made all of us humans a lot of _extremely _cool gadgets while he was staying here, saying that it would help us should any rogue 'Cons decide to pay a visit, too. And trust me, Jackie, I was just as shocked as you when I first tried it out."

While the information answered many of the questions buzzing around in his helm, the initial alarm of it all still held his vocalizer in a prison of mutism.

It was only when she wordlessly turned in his lap to face the aviation controls, her gloved hands reaching out and gripping the steering yoke, that he was jolted from his frozen state of astonishment.

"Whoa, whoa!" he exclaimed, his large servos carefully encircling her small wrists. He plucked her hands from the straight-bar handles and lifted her arms outward, safely restraining her from touching anything else. "Kid, wait, I don't think -"

She jerked at her captured arms, a growl of annoyance boiling from her throat as she shot him a heated glare over her shoulder. "Look, I know what you were thinking, okay? You expected me to sit all quiet and well-behaved, and just _watch_ you as you flew us around, right? But then _poof_! I'm suddenly capable of reaching the controls and maneuvering the _'Hammer_ myself, and now you're having second thoughts, _right_? Afraid I might get us hurt or something, me specifically?"

He snapped his mouthplate closed, involuntarily answering her sudden, blunt questions. He winced inwardly when something wounded and disappointed crept into those exotically-shaped eyes, and he allowed her arms to slip free when she gave another tug.

She turned to look him dead on with a fierce expression.

"I _don't_ need another guardian, Wheeljack," she stated solemnly, her frown deepening. "Bulkhead already does a great job of treating me like I'm going to get myself killed if I breathe wrong, okay? You're the only one, I think, who has ever taken me seriously, Jackie. I mean, Jack was always seen as special with his leadership, and Raf with his intelligence. Bulkhead tells me it's my fearlessness that makes _me_ special, and yet, _you're_ the only one who hasn't shun me for it or like some sort of liability. So, do me a favor and _don't_ start doing it now."

He leaned back fully, letting his servos drop to his thighs. Her honey-glazed eyes bore into his with such fiery conviction that it had his spark fluttering in response.

She titled her chin up defiantly, her eyes smoldering with the formidable inner strength he knew her for. She then turned back around and grasped the flight steering again, stating crossly, "Now, you have two options: Make room or plant your aft in the other seat."

He didn't know exactly how to respond. He could have easily declared the unspoken _third_ option and rescind his offer to teach her to fly the starship at all, and she would have had no other say in the matter.

But he would have never done that. He would have been fooling no one if he honestly believe he _wasn't_ wrapped around spunky female's little finger. The bond between Wreckers went far beyond friendship and devotion, regardless of species. He and Bulkhead would have done anything to keep a smile on her pretty face - she was their special girl.

With an small, exasperated sound, he finally conceded to her demand. He pushed his thighs open wider, allowing her to fit herself comfortably between them. He bracketed her in within the circle of his arms when he reached around her and brushed her hands from the steering yoke again.

"All right, you got me," he sighed, playfully knocking his chin-plate against the back of her head. She titled a haughty smirk up at him and he rasped a knuckle joint under her chin in an affectionate warning. "We'll get this show on the road, but let me be the one to launch us out of here. I'm all for teaching you how to fly, punk, but one wrong move through those cavern walls, and I'm grounded for Primus knows how long until that severed wing or collapsed thruster is in working condition again. Sorry to say, but I don't like you _that_ much to risk it happening."

He busied himself with inputting autopilot emergency-override presets and coordinates - a precaution should anything go wrong that he couldn't immediately correct - and then started up the starship's thrusters.

Just then, his intakes lodged themselves fast when her warm, slight body eased itself fully against him, her voice light and smug, "Yeah, you're right. You _love_ me."

He swallowed dryly as a predatory surge of energy seeped into his EM field, and his spark pulsing aggressively.

_I don't think you have any idea, kid._


End file.
